


Halloween ficlets

by SwirlsOfBlueJay



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, F/M, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwirlsOfBlueJay/pseuds/SwirlsOfBlueJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of halloween inspired ficlets filled with vampires, ghosts and demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halloween ficlets

Given all the near-misses my actual death was annoyingly anti-climatic. I had a heart attack; not drug induced, not unsafe experimental procedure induced, just a plain old heart attack. Oh well, at least I didn't die by a toilet falling on me. What happened afterwards on the other hand wasn't anti-climatic in the slightest. I fell through a giant sucking void of flashing lights; I felt as though I was being pulled in two directions.

 

Now I'm walking through- if the flames are anything to go by –a low-budget film version of hell. There's a guard on each of my arms; they're blue and about seven feet tall. We're surrounded by flames, but it's not hot, it's not even suffocating. It's actually like walking down an air-conditioned hallway. And yet there are people screaming about burning, though the voices are faraway and distorted. I realise the guards are talking about me and begin to listen.

 

"This one doesn't belong here."

 

"No, he doesn't, looks like Master is poaching from heaven again."

 

"God's going to be pissed; apparently this one is important."

 

"Well there's nothing God can do; Master always picks well; they almost always agree to stay."

 

At this point the guard on my left seems to notice I'm listening and gives the other guy a pointed look. They remain silent the rest of the way. We reach a massive stone door and I'm handed over to the doorman who roughly man-handles me into the chamber on the other side of the door. I refuse to kneel and he shoves me to the ground.

 

"You should be grateful. Hardly anyone is ever granted audience with The Devil." The doorman hisses in a whisper before heading back out. I stare at the being at the end of the chamber but I can't see it; it seems distorted and out of focus even though there's no blurring. After the doorman closes the door the being comes into focus. I hold back my gasp of shock. The Devil is none other than James Wilson.

 

"Want to stay? We have pancakes." Wilson says smirking.

 

\-----

 

 

I swallow another vicodin, it doesn't help. It feels like I'm on fire, I'm drenched in sweat, and every shiver that runs through me is like a live-wire injecting pain. It has been four days since Wilson drank my blood; I'm in withdrawal. And apparently withdrawal from vampires makes other withdrawals look like paper-cuts. The need should run both ways but he's off feeding on random strangers. Wilson drinking from others isn't unusual, but leaving me to go without for this long is. I curl up feeling dizzy, my eyes slide closed.

 

I wake to find his teeth sunk into my neck. I'm already feeling better.

 

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise it had been so long."

 

He's lying, it doesn't matter though; I'll forgive him anyway and he knows it.

 

\-----

 

Part One; House POV

 

I've flown half-way around the world to get away from him. And yet here he is. I guess he wasn't lying about the connection allowing him to find me anywhere. Struggling against him is pointless, but I struggle anyway; just like I've always struggled against everyone. His fangs bite down on my neck harshly. I feel myself weaken as he drinks, and my violent struggles have dulled to helpless kitten-clawing by the time he finishes.

 

When he lets go I slide down the wall onto the floor.

 

"Come home House. You might as well; I'll find you wherever you go."

 

\----

 

Part Two; Wilson POV

"Come home House. You might as well; I'll find you wherever you go."

 

The words hurt even as I say them. I long for the days when House would smirk and tilt his head to the side; baring his neck in a silent offering. But those days are in the past.

 

"No." House replies stoically.

 

"Maybe I'll take another drink then; run the well dry." I threaten.

 

"You wouldn't." He challenges defiantly, but I can still see the hint of fear.

 

My teeth have barely touched him before he starts pleading.

 

"All you have to do is come home."

 

"Ok."

 

\------

 

There's a woman wrapped in a gold silken bed-sheet sitting regally on the arm of my couch; she has an annoyingly knowing smirk on her face and looks like Wilson's dead girlfriend. But it can't be her – why; well like I just mentioned she's dead, pay attention!- and I've already established that I'm awake, and not hallucinating. I know that it is in fact the deceased Amber Volakis sitting there like she owns the world- which is insane.

 

A week later she's here again, still draped in that damn golden sheet, which I'm sure holds a poignancy of some kind, a symbol of some precious goal she achieved maybe.

 

"Can't help, he's still not talking to me." I tell her.

 

"I don't want to be the reason he loses his best friend." She replies.

 

"Well go tell him that."

 

"He's not listening."

 

"Wow, ignoring his dead girlfriend, what a bastard."

 

"Well I can't exactly appear to him like this; I have to let him grieve."

 

\------

 

The moment I see House's lifeless body I know what I have to do. I cut a small slit in my wrist and watch the droplets of blood trickle into his mouth. He gasps as life returns to his eyes and instinctively tries to spit out the blood resting on his tongue (vampire blood tastes horrid).

 

I force his eyes to focus on mine.

 

"Drink or you'll die." I say solemnly, he drinks.

 

"This is so cool." He says later, jumping around on his freshly healed leg.

 

"It's not cool; you're now damned forever."

 

"How so?"

 

"You'll see soon enough."

 

\----

 

 

Two vampires stand together on a hillside overlooking a glorious valley, filled with a vast array of greens, peppered with specks of purple petals and white blossoms, gigantic trees tower over the lands, and a row of quaint cottages sit oddly in place.

 

There are young children playing with a dog and a lady with worn-out clothes but also a big smile strolls into the bakery. People in the cottages begin to wake from peaceful slumber and a postman is rushing through his rounds to get back to whatever matters.

 

"Breakfast?" House asks.

 

"Sure." Wilson replies eyeing the sleepy villagers.

 

When the vampires leave there are no children playing or ladies looking for fresh bread, or postmen eyeing watches. There is silence; the wind whines at the grey cloud that falls, and the flowers wilt, no one in the mood to tend them.

 

\-----

 

Part One; Wilson's POV

"What did you do!?!" I ask House, he just sits there with an unreadable expression on his face.

 

"I said I wanted your help, either help or get lost. Or go to the cops and turn me in; I know how you love doing it." He finally replies. I flinch at the words.

 

"What happened?" I ask, in a tone that I hope will be more conducive to getting an answer. I'm afraid I know exactly what the dead body on the floor means, but I need to be sure.

 

"I killed him." House states, I wait for more but it's obviously all House is willing to say. I sigh.

 

"Ok, here's what we're going to do." I say.

 

\----

 

Part Two; House's POV

As I listen to Wilson rattle off his plan of action I can't help but stare in awe. There's no way he's done this before; he can't have; he's Wilson. And yet nothing about this has the feel of someone who has just watched too much CSI, it has the feel of a practised killer. This is probably not the best time to ask, but I'm me so I ask anyway.

 

"How many people have you killed?"

 

"Why did you even call me?" Wilson questions glaring at me.

 

"True friends help true crippled friends move the bodies." I reply sarcastically.

 

We both know I called him because I needed him to take care of this (take care of me). I didn't plan on being scared of how good he was at it.

 

\-----

 

 

Deaths cold fingers gripped his throat loosely, tauntingly. He looked up and realised death had Wilson's eyes. When death spoke it sounded like he had taken Wilson's voice, shredded the words, and put the pieces together backwards.

 

"You're either really unlucky or really stupid, we've already met twice and you're still coming back for more." Death said, and now death sounded a lot more like death had during the infarction and the shooting; which was strange because he didn't remember meeting death either of those times.

 

"Just let me remember; then you won't have to deal with me anymore." He replied.

 

"Nope." Death said simply.

 

"I know; I beat you at chess and you let me remember." He said mockingly gesturing towards the chessboard with a grin.

 

"I always was a wonderful cliché, pocket protector and all." Death said and they both smiled. Only they knew how much of a lie that was.

 

"Do none of your cancer kiddies find this confusing?" He asked sarcastically, refusing to admit he was a bit confused himself.

 

"Got to have a day job. So what was it this time, get shot again?"

 

"Stuck a knife in a socket." He answered.

 

"You're an idiot...I'll finish when you're awake so you can remember." Death said disappearing. He was left in nothingness, there was no light but also no darkness, he pondered the impossibility of that.

 

\-----

 

I watch silently from a distance as Wilson firmly holds onto the woman who's lying unconsciously in his arms. Even from back here I can see that he's standing in his true form; with extended canines and a smooth youthful face, fairer too. He's beautiful.

 

I choose not to approach him; I like to watch, it's ethereal and fascinating. Besides I've tried to convince him not to do this, it doesn't work, he has to do what he has to do. As always I'm filled with awe as I watch his pointed teeth slide into her neck; as though he's just slicing through air, not flesh. When he drinks it isn't violent like a predator tearing into prey should be, it's harmonious as though they're lovers. It feels like music running through my veins.

 

I shake my head to get rid of the sudden thought of wanting him drinking from me. We've been lovers for a while so it's a perfectly normal fantasy (if you ignore that he never leaves a feed alive). Her blood spurts weakly as he pauses to take a breath, he continues to drink ignoring the redness seeping onto his shirt.

 

When Wilson's done he digs a ditch to bury her. Wilson's motions as he digs flow freely and effortlessly. As he moves the ground, his limbs seem like liquid, unhindered by mere weight or immovable earth; it looks miles away from physical movement.

 

He finishes and turns towards me. Even though he never acknowledges me during the act, he always knows when I'm here. It may appear as though Wilson is in a trance, completely absorbed by the kill, but he's always acutely aware of his surroundings. Wilson slowly stalks towards me, and stops just a couple of metres away.

 

"Scared?" He asks, stepping up to me with a predatory gleam in his eye and his nonchalant- 'I-could-kill-you-now-and-not-give-a-damn' smirk on his face.

 

"Never." I reply defiantly, smiling. I close the remaining inches between us, kissing his lips and licking the crimson residue off them.

 

"Good. I wouldn't be able to take you being afraid of me."

 

"You'd probably have to kill me."

 

"True. And then who'd make me look good." Wilson smirks, leaning in for another kiss.


End file.
